The Outcast Highlander (21 page)

“No.” She said pushed the thoughts from her head. “That’s not it at all. I’m not worried about… that.”

“Whatever it is, you don’t need to worry, now that you are married to my brother. He will care for you and protect you and you don’t have to worry about a thing now, lass.”

But Kensey could do nothing except worry. This nebulous future, without her parents, now without Fiona. The look on Broc’s face when he left her. That letter had done more than anger his manhood. The piece about her with Duncan. He would take that to heart. She needed to convince him that she didn’t want Duncan. That she only wanted him.

Chapter Eighteen

“I assume the lass is in her own room,” Broccin asked quietly, as they arrived at Kensey’s door. He was tired from the ride, and heavy with the stink of horse. “We must get her at once.”

“I believe she waits in your bed.” Brigid’s downcast eyes and half-smile told him all he needed to know.

“My bed?” Broccin repeated. “Why?”

“She’s your wife, or don’t you remember?” Duncan whispered.

“Aye, I remember well enough.” Broc sneered at his sister and pulled off the dirty cloak, unwinding and unwinding. He would be warmer now, in his room. In his bed. With his wife.

He could see, as they turned the corner, the door to the solar. How many times he had approached this door, his heart beating like hooves on hollow ground. Yet this time, a woman waited inside. His wife waited. She would likely be sleeping. And being woken by two sweating, stinking men might not be the most pleasant experience.

“What if she sleeps? It’s after dark now. Should we wake her?” Broccin asked, stopping in the hall before their voices became audible to her. “Will Alana be able to tend to her wounds?”

Duncan pulled a thick hand up to his red hair and ran it through, pensively. “It is nothing that Alana is incapable of caring for. But I thought Kensey would want to see Fiona as soon as she arrived. I’m sure she’s been all nerves since we left.”

“Perhaps we should wait to wake her, after all. We may give her a fright, bursting in the two of us, and with news that will unsettle her. Why don’t we wait for the morning?”

Still considering, Duncan looked back the way they came, his gaze anxious. “It will be several hours before sunrise,” he said. Then he nodded his head and turned back to his brother. “Let’s give the lass a few more hours of sleep. You can wake her in the morning and bring her to my room.”

“Your room?” Broccin asked, raising an eyebrow. “Are you certain that is a safe place to keep her?”

“Safe?”

“She is not your wife, after all,” warned Broccin. He had no love for Colin Ross, but the man was Fiona’s husband, in the eyes of the law and the Church. And although they had rescued her from her captivity, as Duncan put it, she was the daughter of one nobleman, and the wife of another. The last thing Broc needed was a war with other clans when they needed to go to war with the English. “Perhaps it would be best to keep her in Brigid’s house. I will post a guard.”

Duncan spread his legs and almost dropped into an attack stance. “She is my wife in every way that counts.”

“She is not your wife in any way.”

“She was mine before she was his,” Duncan said, his voice heavy and slow. Broccin put an arm out and touched his brother’s heaving chest.

“I am not the enemy, brother. But this is my house. And she is not your wife.”

“I told you. She was mine before she was his.”

It took a moment for that thought to settle in to Broccin’s mind. The repetition made him catch Duncan’s meaning. “You mean you had her before Ross had her?”

His cheeks reddened, but his face remained stern. “I did.”

This threw a whole new wrinkle in the situation, Broccin thought. “Very well. You may have the lass with you. She needs a lot of care, so I trust you not to take her in any way, as it were. The day may come when we have to pay for what we have done this last day. But know that I will stand behind you.”

“Thank you, brother.” Duncan put his right hand on Broccin’s right shoulder in a gesture of oath. “I swear that I will do what I can to see that no harm comes to this place or our people because of her presence.” He held on to Broccin for a moment, and then Brigid pulled them apart.

“Alana will need my help.” She took Duncan’s hand.

Broccin stepped back so his brother and sister could have the right of way. “Go to your woman.”

“And you to yours.” Duncan let Brigid pull him down the hall and then both took off at a run. And good thing, too. That lass of his was in a sorry state. They’d had to fashion a litter just to get her out of the tower and then away. She couldn’t walk, could barely move. It would take all of Alana’s skill and Brigid’s help to heal her, and even then, they might not have the skill to save her. He wished Kensey didn’t have to see her this way.

Broccin stalked the hall with a wary gait, then put his hand on the handle to his room. The courage he’d felt only minutes ago suddenly left him. Much as any feeling of strength left him when he saw her. It was unnerving, her ability to capture him, just by being in her physical presence.

When he opened the door, a strange sight met his eyes. Kensey was curled up in the chair next to the fireplace, where she’d slept away many a night while caring for him as he’d been wounded. She burbled in her sleep almost like an infant and looked as though she were in a rather uncomfortable position.

Broccin undressed quietly, placing his clothes neatly on the table next to the bed and pulling back the covers. Kensey didn’t stir even slightly as he disrobed. Fully naked, he walked over to the chair that held his wife and bent down to pick her up.

She shifted and sighed as he gathered her carefully into his arms. The very touch of her skin on his as her cheek rested against his bare chest was enough to set his skin humming with desire. Her vulnerability at this moment struck him and he forgot all thoughts of seeing her with Duncan, or what Duncan might have wished another day. Whether or not she loved his brother seemed so irrelevant now that she was in his bed. All he wanted, at that moment, was to possess her, to be possessed by her, even if she did not match his love.

She’d been sleeping in only a thin, white chemise with no blanket and she began to shiver slightly when he moved her away from the fire. Afraid she would wake, Broc rushed her to the bed and slid her under the covers, then crawled in beside her. Once under the warmth of the quilts, he scooted over to lie next to her. Instinctively, she curled her body into his and rested her head on his chest. She’d turned into him and he was looking down, directly into her silent and peaceful face.

Broccin marveled speechlessly at how beautiful she really was. He couldn’t believe that she was his. He reached his finger down to touch her delicate skin and found he almost couldn’t stop himself, except for the tiredness that had sunk in as soon as he’d hit the softness of the sheets.

As he felt his eyelids drooping, he felt his heart swell. Her hands rested idly on his chest and the acute sense of her consumed every point where their bodies met. His resistance to waking her and taking her was almost saintly and it was all he could do to keep his hands off her, as he could feel already how much he wanted to be with her.

Her face was turned up toward his, and as he looked down, he couldn’t help kissing her lips softly. Broccin pulled her closer to him, and couldn’t stop thinking how happy he was that she was finally his.

“I love you, Kensey Sinclair,” he whispered, kissing her again. “I don’t know how you managed to take me so captive to you, but you have.” At the thought of her cold reception the previous day, he added sadly, “I know that you do not love me in return, but regardless, I will love you until the day I die.”

***

Kensey awoke to find her entire body warm and comfortable, along with something she had never experienced before: a man in her bed. For a moment, disconcerted, she felt her heart leap in her throat, catching a scream. But she did not scream, for it was not a man, at all. Or at least not a strange man. It was her husband. Husband. That word was still foreign to her. Her father was a husband, or her grandfather. She could not imagine herself with a husband.

Her husband, as it would seem, had fully enveloped her with his body in the night. His arm, with that long scar running its length, curled around her and held her tight against his side, which also carried a scar, although this one she knew intimately already. The rhythm of his breath told her that he was still asleep, which sent a pulse of electricity through her body that found its home deep in her navel, where Broccin’s hand rested.

She turned her head, just barely, to look back at him. A tiny gasp escaped her lips when she realized that he was completely naked. She could see, beneath the blanket that passed over both their bodies, that the naked skin of his torso went down all the way to his hips, and then she could see no further. His body was pressed so tightly, possessively, against hers, that she could not see his entire male form, and even upon caring for his injury, she had been careful never to let his entire body be known to her. Broc’s never had the luxury of being utterly scientific to her.

Her movement in the bed made him stir. She instinctively draw and held her breath with a quick giddiness that surprised her. She held onto that breath as he continued to wake, and his hands began to move along her body. The hand at her navel moved first toward her thighs, then slowly trailed upward. The material of her chemise was thin enough that she could feel the heat of his hand, and she fought hard to exhale slowly, but found herself letting out small, excited bursts of air in response to the new, thrilling sensation of his intimate touch.

Broccin exhaled himself, as he began to wake more fully. His awareness allowed that there was a small form pressed up against his naked body, and the noises she made told him that she was enjoying the experience of waking like this, perhaps as he was. But it was her tiny movements that woke him in an instant.

“Did I wake you?” he wondered, his breath feathering seductively against her ear. Kensey felt her stomach tighten in response to this stirringly intimate gesture. Without even being touched.

“You did not, my lord,” she responded. “I woke myself only minutes ago, and was just… lying here, enjoying the…beauty of the morning.” She had to stop herself from revealing what she had truly been doing. Investigating his body, and his touch. Enjoying the warmth of him, the private way he held her, the intimacy of his touch. She could not bring herself to say such things, and her cheeks flushed at the very thought of being so brazen.

He noticed the color in her cheeks and thought to move away from her, but the room around them was so cold, and the heat of their bodies would not last the farther they were separate from one another. So he braved her bridal blush, and continued to keep her close.

“Does this bother you?” he asked, shifting himself behind her. She could not help but laugh.

“Nothing about you could bother me, my lord.”

Broccin felt warm himself as she spoke those words. He had not been planning to attempt to woo her that morning, but upon waking to such warmth and such beauty, he suddenly ached. Yet she was still a virgin, and he knew enough about virgins to know he would hurt her, although he had never bedded a virgin before. He did not like to be the first man to claim a woman. That right should belong to her husband, and if it could not, he would not be the one to decide. He had always prided himself on his sexual control… until he held his young wife in his arms and realized that, as much as he believed she would be amenable to his advances, he may not be able to control himself even if she were not. The way she moved just so against him, and the way she smelled and felt and spoke and sounded. It was overwhelming him.

“I know it is a surprise to find me in your bed…” he began, hoping to ease his way into the conversation as quickly as possible. But she interrupted him.

“It is I who am in your bed, my lord,” corrected Kensey, turning herself to face him. She thought to have an intellectual conversation at this time?
Good God in heaven, woman
, he thought.
Do you feel no desire?
All of a sudden, he wondered if she had even been prepared for this moment.

“And have you learned what will happen in the bed that a man and his wife share together?”

She nodded her head, a small gesture that belied her innocence. She lay in front of him, her chemise still covering her body. But the neck was gathered fabric so that it could be pulled to suit whatever she wore over it, and it had pulled in the night so that it left both shoulders exposed and slid down to allow him a tantalizing view of her décolletage. He reached his hand up to her shoulder and watched the creamy skin under his fingers as it
prickled, and his wife shuddered.

Broccin could control himself no longer and claimed his husbandly kiss, expecting to find a frozen, frightened response, not unlike when they’d kissed at their wedding. But this response was different. She opened her mouth, allowed him to explore. He pulled away, confused.

She was breathless and followed his retreat unthinkingly, for a moment after he released her. There was a cloudy desire in her eyes that urged him on. And as she felt herself sailing into the first waves of exquisite, soft, slow ecstasy, she kissed him back and willed this moment never to end, no matter what it took to suspend it.

Chapter Nineteen

Broccin lay in the early morning light, watching his peaceful young bride fall back into sleep. Their lovemaking had tired her and he could do nothing but watch her, mesmerized by the tenderness they had shared, and the way his heart swelled when he thought of many more mornings passed as they had just done. Given the state of her friend, he was happy to give her a night of peace before she would be so devastated.

All he wanted was to protect her from that harsh reality. Perhaps he could keep her in bed all day and pretend they were the only people on earth. Yes, he could do that.